‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

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FROM HERE TO ETERNITY

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This avenue of shredded lust and half caught moments

               collecting inked postcards of another life

A life lived in the glare of neon night and grey-green shutters

              that open to the sight of beautiful birds and laurel

Or an ashen pony grazing in the shadows of Waldeck Mountain

              where sail those winter skiers lonely

And Betsy Martini who showed her left breast to me once as a favour

              but only for a lie I told that saved her blushes

On another day so brazen like the gold leaf laden on ‘our Lady’s’

              statue at that wee church near Finnegan’s Moor

Yet decked in red and chromium contrived, she would not tire of

              gracing the sun and my open-top Oldsmobile

So splendid a sight, so blanche and tireless, a rutting doe,

             so forward in turns and geared, flowing manoeuvres

That famed iron lung now catching water-stained butterflies

             and leaving trails, flumes of multi-coloured markers

A winter hearse, a summer ‘sporty’, the rollover of a life less shallow,

             tired out from the tunnel, dark and buzzing

If I could snatch her up and take her to a royal view,

            translate the mood of blue to the colour of her natural hair

Her soft pearled eyes have lived through thoughts of both

          a simply better day and her honest Scouter vision

But Diana of Versailles could not have taken longer,

         while she swam effortlessly the Levy line that laps the rusty bridge

Or collected shells from the sand near to Bell Hop Ridge

          where those summer birds with the long slender bills feed

And walk so gracious without fear, like my very own lady Guinevere,

          so benevolent, so kind, with settled mind

She the princess to my chagrin steps, the marvellous reason

          why honour is best buried in the purse of grace

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writtenbyedenbray06.11.2012

                                                                                                            edited04.04.2020

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#Authors Note ~ Up to now I have commented candidly on each piece presented in this my 2nd Published Anthology of Poems, Articles and Essays but in reviewing this particular Omnibus of a Poem that is so full of illusion and suggestive verse I admit to being initially a little coy.

I can recognise some of the images which are hidden like sign-post clues within the long grass beside the dunes where Lancaster and Donna Reed played and displayed enough passion and reckless abandon for a lifetime to help bring home no less than 9 Academy Awards  for the Fred Zinnemann – 1954 film of the same title.

I admit, it is a tale of massive allusion, biographical in detail enough to provide the drive in the writing for some pretty powerful layering of lines that follow – one upon the other, like the crashing waves of a pretty randy sea. I will not hide behind a windbreak of false humility or modesty when I say that personally I loved writing it and only chose the title after it was completed. I love it because at such harsh times as these we need every ounce of passion and excitement the wind may spray in our faces and because it finishes so perfectly with one of the best lines I personally have ever read and certainly ever wrote.  Hope you love it!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  ~ edenbraytoday

‘She, the princess to my chagrin steps, the marvellous reason

          why honour is best buried in the purse of grace’